For many years, Mother’s Day for me, was a day I grieved.
Several years ago, my mom was an addict, and alcohol was her drug. She was in my life, but she wasn’t able to really be my mom. The relationship that we had shared all my life had been broken by addiction. And every Mother’s Day I always wondered if it would be her last.
During that time, we had also been trying to get pregnant. I wanted a baby more than anything. I wanted squishy cheeks, chunky thighs, and a little voice to call me “Mommy.” And it just wasn’t happening. My body had failed me, month after agonizing month. We tried every natural/holistic route you can imagine. We tried to “not try.” We tried rounds of infertility medicine. We changed our diets. We charted temperatures and I knew my calendar like the back of my hand. We even tried several rounds of infertility treatments. And they all ended in the bottom of the trash can with one lonely pink line on a pregnancy test each month.
I wanted more than anything to be a mom.
And I wanted more than anything to have my mom.
I was the girl on Mother’s Day without a mom and without children to mother. I’ll never forget walking into church one Sunday, and given a rose. “Happy Mother’s Day,” the greater said. As she handed me that rose, it was if the thorns slashed straight through my heart.
Mother’s Day left me exposed.
All of my deepest wounds were on display, it felt, for all to see. There wasn’t a way to get around the ache of that day. Every second was full of pain. And I felt so alone.
Yet, I wasn’t.
He saw every tear that slipped off my cheeks. He watched my heart ache, alone, in the middle of a crowded room. He watched my heart grieve as a mother hugged her daughter, wishing desperately I could share that with my mom. He saw me look away when a little toddler reached up to her mama. And He felt the thorns of that rose pierce the deepest places of my heart. Not a second of my pain was unnoticed by Him. And I wasn’t exposed, like I felt.
I was covered.
I was hidden in Him.